


darling, is this love?

by ikaris



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Steve’s a talker ye be warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-28 17:08:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15053879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikaris/pseuds/ikaris
Summary: something warm blossoms in your chest, something comforting and real and raw, and you offer him your brightest smile. he visibly relaxes, and you melt into him when he wraps his arms around your waist and hoists you against him, turning his face into the space where your neck meets your shoulder. the embrace is intimate in a way you’d never felt with anyone else, and you wonder, briefly, if he feels it too, that same feeling of belonging that threatens to drown you.“i’ll always be here for you,” you whisper, tangling your fingers in his still-damp hair. “i’m yours however you need me, stevie.”





	darling, is this love?

**Author's Note:**

> inspiration strikes at the weirdest times.

Steve doesn’t know why he’s at your apartment.

It’s late, like two-in-the-morning late, but he doesn’t think he cares. Standing out on your stoop, the rain pelts around him and it’s cold and miserable but he doesn’t care about that either, consumed only by the thought of seeing you, of holding you and kissing you and being with you in every possible way. But Steve isn’t stupid, and he knows when to take risks and when to play it safe, and tonight he decides he’ll settle for sitting on your couch and drinking cheap wine and trying to shake the hurt from his bones after getting back from the latest mission.

He stares at your buzzer for another two seconds before he decides to ring you up, and he counts off as he waits exactly 23 seconds before your voice rings over the intercom, tired and raspy enough to tug at the space below his navel, reserved just for you.

“What,” you croak, too tired to try and be polite. The a in the word drags, and he finds himself smiling despite the tiredness he feels. You sound like a through-and-through new yorker, and he reminds himself to tease you about it later, payback for all the harping you did, complaining about how awful the east-coast accent really is.

“C’mon doll, you don’t mean that,” he teases, leaning forward against the wet brick. “What do you say you let me up? I’m gettin’ soaked out here.”

“Steven Grant Rogers,” you scold, although the buzzer sounds and your gate unlocks. “Get your ass up here before I change my mind.”

He offers a half-grin into the little camera. “Yes, ma’am.”

The ride up the four stories is fast, and before he knows it he’s slipping into your apartment and locking the door behind him, toeing off the wet weight of his boots and running his hand through his hair.

“You look like a wet dog,” you greet, walking towards him from the direction of your bathroom, towel in hand and a smirk on your face.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he deadpans, lowering his head dutifully so you can towel off his hair. “Your vote of confidence really means a lot.”

“Glad to be of service, Captain.”

Steve huffs, but he lets you do as you please, nearly rubbing his head raw as you work to dry his hair. He’s already peeling off the top of his uniform, and then he’s unbuckling and pulling his belt free from his waist. It’s a routine now, coming to you after a hard day, sometimes a rough mission, and he already knows there’s a fresh set of sweats waiting for him in your bathroom, and another one of his t-shirts he’s left here for occasions like tonight. His suit falls into a heap around him, And he tries for a somewhat sheepish smile as you tut softly, hands still sliding the towel over his hair.

He waits patiently, and he allows himself to laugh with you as you pull the towel over his eyes before finally releasing him.

“You’re trouble, Cap,” you scold, throwing the towel over your shoulder as you bend to collect his suit, trying to ignore the fact that he stands before you in only his boxers. “Go get changed, Rogers, before I decide to kick you into the hallway in nothing but your briefs.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he counters, as he steps around you with a fond hand to your waist. “That’s like, treason or something.”

You scoff, but you still smile. Steve makes his way into the bathroom, already slipping into the spare set of clothes he’s got saved here, and he sighs when their warmth blankets him. He takes a moment to collect himself, again, and he stares into the mirror for a moment, taking in the bags under his eyes, the stress set into the creases in his skin. He sighs, and then he turns on the cold water and splashes it over his face, cleaning away the dirt and ignoring the way it gets all over your vanity for the moment. He wants to forget tonight, wants to forget this whole mission, really, the way the team had ineffably fucked up. He can still see the faces of the civilians caught in the crossfire, terrified and worse still, clinging to hope when they saw his iconic shield.

Steve splashes water over his face again, grunting quietly as he tries to literally wash the image from his eyes. He hates days like today, when it felt like everything the Avengers did for the world was for nothing, coming out of another mission with nothing to show but broken bones and broken hearts. Steve hates when he feels this useless, and he hates that you’re the only one who can mend the parts of him that get broken in the aftermath. He hates that he has to show up at your door reeking of sweat and blood and the hurt he feels deep inside. He sighs, and he lets himself give in to his own self-pity for a moment longer, taking one last second to compose himself before he faces you again.

When he finally leaves the bathroom, he finds you on your couch, surfing through late night tv and nursing a plastic cup with what he knows is wine from the bottle on the table. His own cup waits for him, and he smiles softly, plopping down next to you and pulling your bare legs over his lap, fingers teasing the skin of your ankle underneath your bulky pair of fuzzy socks. Even though he knows it’s your standard bedtime outfit, it still fans the heat in his gut, your oversized t-shirt that does nothing to hide you from him, the sweet little panties you’ve got on, short and cute, and your socks, those goddamn socks. ou reach over him for his wine, and he has to stop himself from stopping you right there, practically draped over his lap.

He swallows hard, thanking you quietly when you press the cup into his hands. Tonight is going to be harder than he thought, especially with the way you lean into him, smiling tiredly as he sips at his wine and basks in the warmth of your apartment, your legs over his own. The two of you sit in silence for a minute, and he relishes in it. You know him better than you know yourself, so you know that he doesn’t want to talk about it, not yet at least.

He knows you’re gonna know just what he needs tonight, and the thought comforts him, if only just.

For now, he just wishes he were able to get drunk.

**

Steve is tired tonight.

Not just physically, either. You can see it in the set of his face, the lines carved into his skin, the bags under his eyes. His hand on your leg feels heavier than it usually does, weighted somehow, with something he doesn’t quite want to explain. You want to take it all from him, want to give him peace, and the thought of it makes you warm inside, makes you giddy. You like that he chooses you when he’s so lost, so tired. You like that he chooses you at all, that he keeps coming over for taco tuesday and spaghetti thursday when he’s able and that sometimes he buys you groceries and cleans up after himself when he cooks.

It might be the wine, you’re not sure, but you find yourself distracted by the way he looks in his old t-shirt too, the way it stretches over his chest and the planes of his stomach. Steve is built like a god, all rolling muscle and rippling planes, and you’re positive that he could wear a garbage bag well if he tried. You hum into your drink, fighting back a smile, eyes roving over the way he sprawls over your couch, melting into the cushions, totally unguarded.

He looks over at you, and while he smiles, there’s a question in the way he raises his brow, sipping at his wine as you shamelessly take him all in. You’ve caught him looking at you before, eyes warm with something you never wanted to name, a fond thing, so you know that he likes the way you’re looking at him now, like you could eat him alive, like there’s nothing else in the world that matters but him.

“Alright, doll,” he drawls, licking at his lips. “What’s goin’ on in that head of yours? what’re you thinkin’?”

You smile. “Well, if you must know, I’m thinkin about how handsome you are, Captain.”

He sucks in a breath, and you watch as his lips twitch. “Don’t tease me, sweetheart. That’s just cruel.”

“It’s true,” you affirm, reaching over to set your cup on the coffee table, taking his too. “I don’t know if you’ve ever looked in a mirror, Stevie, but you’re quite the sight to behold.”

He chuckles, and it’s low and quiet and rumbles in his broad chest. It’s the most enticing thing you’ve ever heard, and you’re struck with the sudden urge to be close to him, to press yourself against him and feel his heat under your hands. He’s looking at you the same way, like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever seen, and it makes your heart do somersaults in your chest, thumping away like a jackhammer. But you can still see it, that same darkness that follows him like a shroud. It’s there, hiding behind his blue blue eyes, and you know that right now he needs something else, something different than whatever sweetness hangs in the air between you now.

“Steve,” you whisper, pulling yourself close to him, now. He accepts you right away, and you see his shoulders sag with relief when he feels the warmth of your chest against his. You curl an arm around his neck, fingers playing at the nape, and he sighs as one of his big hands comes up to cup your jaw, tilting your face up towards his. Neither of you do anything else, then, and you just kind of stare at each other, reveling in the closeness but teetering over the edge of something else.

He bites at his bottom lip, and his eyes fall shut as your thumb moves to pull it free, soothing over the reddened skin in left in the wake. He swallows, brows furrowing, and you know that he’s going to spill whatever’s eating at him. It never takes him long to open up to you, something that terrifies him but makes you giddy in a way you don’t understand. When he opens his eyes, he looks troubled and leagues more tired than you’d ever seen him. You know this time, whatever it was was bad. Or maybe it wasn’t, but it was enough to send him over the edge he’d been hanging on to for far too long.

“I’m sorry to always dump my problems on you,” he murmurs, turning his chin up to press a soft kiss against your forehead. “I know it’s unfair to you.”

“Don’t be dumb,” you whisper back, tightening the hold you have on him. “You know i don’t mind a bit, Rogers. I like that you trust me enough to come to me when something’s bothering you.”

He chuckles, but it sounds kind of hollow, kind of defeated. “You still deserve more than this, sweetheart. I hope you know that I genuinely appreciate your company.”

“‘Course i do,” you reply, offering him a smile. “Why else would you put up with my attitude?”

This time, his chuckle is heartier, less sad. He takes a minute to look at you, to really look at you, and whatever it is between you turns into a sweet sort of tension, not demanding in the slightest. His eyes get a little misty around the edges, but there’s an intensity there you’ve never seen him use before, at least not on you. You can’t help but swallow the lump in your throat, suddenly a little bit nervous.

“You know, doll, you’re the closest thing I’ve had to a home in a long time,” he admits, mouth twisting ruefully. “You make it all, I don’t know, quiet? You’re like my own little hiding place, if that makes any sense.”

Something warm blossoms in your chest, something comforting and real and raw, and you offer him your brightest smile. He visibly relaxes, and you melt into him when he wraps his arms around your waist and hoists you against him, turning his face into the space where your neck meets your shoulder. The embrace is intimate in a way you’d never felt with anyone else, and you wonder, briefly, if he feels it too, that same feeling of belonging that threatens to drown you.

“I’ll always be here for you,” you whisper, tangling your fingers in his still-damp hair. “I’m yours however you need me, Stevie.”

You can feel him smile, and when he pulls away, he doesn’t quite look so haunted. He smooths a hand through your hair, and then it’s resting at the back of your neck and he’s pulling you forward, resting his forehead against yours.

“Maybe tomorrow I’ll need you to listen,” he whispers, mouth pulling up at the corner, “but right now I think I need you to distract me.”

You grin, and the giggle that bubbles out of your chest is giddy and sweet. He chuckles too, and before you realize what’s happening he’s turning and sliding you into his lap, big broad hands settling over your waist as yours settle on his shoulders. You both know that a line is about to be crossed, one you probably won’t be able to come back from, but you also know that this is a line you’ve been waiting to cross for a long, long time.

“Like I said,” you start, leaning forward to tease his mouth with yours, heart fluttering with his little gasp, “I’m yours however you need me, Stevie.”

He all but crashes into you, then, nearly toppling you off the couch with the intensity of his embrace, but his kiss is the sweetest thing you’ve ever experienced. It tastes a little like the wine you’d both been sipping at, and it’s not consuming, at least, not in the way you’d expect. It’s soft but it’s also just on the right side of desperate, the right side of needy, and it’s not domineering or commanding or anything but wanting, something you’ve both craved for too long. When he parts your lips with his tongue, it isn’t rough or sloppy. He takes his time, brushing it just behind your teeth, the roof of your mouth, sliding it over yours slowly, sensually.

You don’t mean to, but you groan, sliding your body as close to his as you can possibly get, hands fisting in his hair as he coaxes you to open your mouth further, sucking your tongue behind his lips and pulling out all kinds of sounds you didn’t know you could make. You feel his lips turn up in a smile, and when he pulls away you want to chase his kiss, want to be intoxicated with it all over again.

“Aren’t you gonna invite me to your room?” he teases, squeezing your hips as you finally open your eyes. It takes you a minute, but you nod, and he doesn’t waste any time scooping you into his arms, starting the all-too-familiar trek to your bedroom. He kisses you along the way, slow and soft, and he has to stop a few times because he gets too lost in it, too consumed. He knew he wanted you, has wanted you for pretty much as long as he’s known you, but now that he has you, body warm and pliant against his, mouth moving under his own, he doesn’t know how he ever managed to live without you.

He presses you against the wall just outside of your room, and the both of you let out soft groans when he shifts and presses against you just right. He’s not hard yet, not all the way, but the pressure of him still feels delicious against your warm cunt. It’s kind of weird, having him close in this way, but it also feels so undeniably right. He sets you down on your feet, and his lips kiss a path just down the side of your neck, latching onto your pulse point as his hands slip under the soft shirt you’re wearing, sliding it up and up and up until he’s pulling away and silently asking permission.

You nod, and then he pulls it over your head and his lips are suddenly all over, starting with your mouth and trailing down, down, down until he’s sucking your pert nipple into his mouth and groping the other, rutting softly against your lower stomach as you mewl and keen underneath him. It’s the most intense thing you’ve ever experienced, the way he looks up at you with his bright blue eyes, mouthing enthusiastically at your tit. Your hands once again find his hair as you throw your head back, uncaring of the dull sting you feel from thumping it against the wall. Your pussy flutters, more excited to be with a man than you’d been in so, so long. He bites down on your other nipple, having switched somewhere between your sighs and moans, and you nearly jump out of your skin.

“Stevie, please,” you whisper, pulling his head up. “Bed, now.”

He doesn’t need much convincing, and before you can brace yourself he’s sweeping you into his arms and then you feel the softness of your unmade bed underneath you as you bounce gently. And then you’re looking into those electric eyes and they’re filled with a sort of visceral longing, the kind you know is reflected back at him in your own. He leans down and everything slows down, softens, and you sigh against his blissful kiss, giving into the sensation of his fingers trailing over your skin, the comfortable weight of his body draped over yours. You do some exploring of your own, mapping the planes and angles of his broad back, groping at the flesh of his ass, teasing under the waistband of his sweats. He groans, low and wanton, and you know it’s a sound you’ll never grow tired of hearing.

He pulls off his shirt, then, and you let your hands fall to your sides as he takes the time to breathe, to kind of just look at you. There’s a deep silence between you now, save for your harsh pants, but in it is everything that you know needs to be said. He smiles, and it’s a soft thing, and you return it tenfold, reaching up to cup his face.

“God, I’ve wanted you for so long,” he whispers, voice sounding hoarse and just a little bit wrecked.

Your smile softens as you tug at his hair playfully. “Probably not as long as I’ve wanted you, Stevie.”

His grin is relieved, and his kiss is overwhelming when he once again presses it to your lips. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that, sweetheart.”

There’s no more words, after that. Steve finally presses all of him against all of you, and he lets out a guttural moan when his cock brushes against your thigh. He’s worked himself to full hardness, now, and the weight of him against your leg makes your mouth water, makes your pussy gush with warmth and sweetness and longing for him to finally, finally be inside of you. You moan, a filthy sound, and suddenly Steve is moving around until he’s pressed right against your hot cunt, and then he’s moving forward and dragging his cock against you hard and slow, the friction delicious and consuming and not nearly enough to satiate the carnal hunger you feel for him.

He groans and his head snaps back, and for a moment he lets himself fuck against you, hips working a bit feverishly until he’s humping you into the mattress, groaning and groping and desperate for more of you.

“Stevie, please,” you cry, thrashing your head to the side when he once again takes your tit into his hot mouth, slurping at it like a man starved. “I need you inside me, baby. I need more.”

“Not yet,” he whispers, still working his hips against you. “Need’ta prep you, first, darlin’. Need your pussy to be nice and ready for me.”

His hand slides down from where it squeezes at your hip, and it teases over the fabric of your panties, soaked and sticking to your needy pussy, palm sliding over the front as his fingers tease at your entrance, pushing in but not getting much further than your panties will allow. You cry out, bucking into his hand, and he smiles against your nipple as pulls your wet panties down and finally gathers the slick accumulating around your hole, teasing you softly before his thumb finds the hood of your clit. You gasp, the sound going right to his cock, and he’s biting down on your nipple as he finally moves his thumb in tight circles, dipping the tip of his pointer finger inside of you before he finally sinks it home.

“Jesus,” you whisper, through clenched teeth, arching off the bed as he gives you a few shallow thrusts. He inserts another finger, and he grins as you rock into his grasp, legs spreading further, inviting him deeper, fingers brushing against the spot inside of you that leaves you breathless. He’s pleased that you’re already so wet, so receptive, and he adds a third finger for good measure, groaning low when you let out the sweetest little moan for him.

He works you perfectly, like this isn’t the first time he’s ever gotten this close to you, and the thought makes you clench around him, hips working in tandem with his fingers to get you right where you want to be. You can feel him rutting against you, still, clothed cock fucking against his hand, your thigh. Suddenly his fingers don’t feel like they’re enough, but you clamp down on him harder, desperate to feel the weight of his heavy cock inside of you.

“I don’t wanna come on your fingers,” you manage, bringing his head up for a sloppy kiss. “Want you inside of me, Stevie. Wanna feel you fuck me with your cock.”

He groans, but he still works you as you desperately tear at his sweats. Finally, with a few good twists of his fingers, he pulls out of you with a wet sound, pushing his pants and boxers down his legs before he’s covering you once again, grunting at the feeling of your spit-soaked nipples brushing against his chest. He’s kissing you desperately now, like he might never get the chance again, and before you’re prepared he sinks into you all the way, bottoming out as you lift your hips with a shrill moan.

“God, you feel so good,” he whispers, pulling out of you before slamming back in. “Just like I pictured, doll. so fuckin’ tight.”

You whimper, wrapping your legs around his hips as he adjusts above you, tangling your hands above your heads. He fills you to the brim, and you kind of feel like you might split in two, but the pleasure-pain you feel is intoxicating. He presses another sloppy kiss to your lips before he really finally starts up a rhythm. It’s not slow, not like you’d imagined, but it’s also not too terribly fast. Each thrust is long and deep, and while it doesn’t really deviate in speed the intensity is all over the place. Sometimes he barely pulls out, shallowly thrusting in and out in a gentle kind of fucking, but then quick as he starts he stops and he’s nearly slamming into you, forcing you up the bed with how hard he fucks himself into you.

The sounds that fill your room are beautifully debauched. The sound of skin slapping against skin is the loudest and most overpowering, but he doesn’t keep himself quiet, grunting and groaning and moaning your name with every thrust of his hips. You’re no better, choking on his name as he fucks you into oblivion, crying and mewling and keening. The way he feels inside of you is unlike anything you’ve ever felt. You can feel every ridge of his cock the fit is so tight, can feel how warm he is, how heavy he is.

“Fuck, Steve,” you nearly howl, when he angles his hips to hit that spot inside of you that has you seeing stars. “God your cock feels so good. You’re making me feel so good, baby.”

He growls, and once again he gets a little greedy with his thrusts, brows furrowed and jaw clenched as he moves to brace himself above you. Your hands find his biceps, at first, hanging on for dear life, and then they slide over his shoulders and down his back, over his ass and then to his hips where you finally find the purchase you need. He’s fucking you so deeply you can hardly move, but you find the will to rock your hips with his, leaning up slightly as you let out a guttural keen.

“Touch yourself,” he murmurs, dropping down again, pressing his face into your neck. “Make yourself come, baby girl. I need you to make yourself come on my cock. think you can do that? You’re so close and I wanna feel you come all over my cock, baby. I can already feel you squeezin’ the life outta me.”

You moan, nearly choking on his name as he starts sucking kisses against the skin of your neck, happily fucking you all the while. He’s right, of course. You’re so close you can almost taste it, lower belly coiling hot and tight, thighs spasming around his waist. You can feel your whole body shaking from the intensity of it all, and you know with a few good passes over your clit you’ll be gone. You’d never been wound up so tight before, not like this, and it’s almost scary how well Steve works your body.

“come on,” he whispers, hips starting to lose their rhythm, thrusts edging on frantic. “‘M so close, baby girl. I need you to come soon or I might not make it.”

You obey him, and your hand snakes between you and down your body. You can’t resist teasing him, however, and you slip it beneath where his cock fucks into you, brushing against his base and teasing at his balls. They’re drawn up so tight they have to hurt, and when he feels your fingers he lets out a loud groan, body spasming so hard he nearly falls right out of you. He picks up the pace again and you know it’s time, so you bring your hand back to where you need it most. With a few desperate swipes, you’re a goner, crying out as your pussy clenches like a vice around his cock.

“Just like that,” Steve croons, pounding into you, desperate to prolong your orgasm and desperate to find his own. “God, Just like that baby. Your pussy’s so good. so so good.”

With a few more harsh thrusts, he finally finds what he’s looking for. He lets out a series of fucked-out groans, riding your spent cunt through the brunt of his orgasm, nearly slamming home each time. You’re a moaning mess beneath him, body oversensitive and deliciously spent as he finally, finally comes down, slumping against you with something like relief.

The both of you can’t find the words to say, yet, so you simply hold each other, content to bask in the aftermath of the best sex of your life. Steve is warm next to you, and his hold is grounding, comforting. You don’t know how much time passes, but you spend it trading soft kisses and softer words, fingers caressing skin and bodies pressed close. Finally, Steve decides that he needs to clean you up, and you simply watch him while he slips into the bathroom, and then you watch him when he comes out with a warm washcloth, sharing soft smiles as he cleans the mess he left between your legs.

Finally, he slides back into bed with you, and he pulls you close, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as his arms close around you.

“Can I stay here?” his voice is soft, almost pleading. You know what he’s really asking and something stirs inside of you. You know then that there’s no place you’d rather have him, that he’s your home just as much as you’re his. So you smile, and you wrap yourself tighter around him, eager to keep him close to you for as long as you can possibly manage.

“You can stay as long as you’d like,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his sweaty collarbone. “I’m yours as long as you’ll have me, Steve Rogers.”

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is always appreciated!


End file.
